


Alcohol

by AshyEsy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Gay, Homosexual, Love, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-25
Updated: 2018-06-25
Packaged: 2019-05-28 11:20:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15047744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AshyEsy/pseuds/AshyEsy
Summary: Castiel suffers badly with the absence of Dean, new Knight of Hell. Taking his pain to the bar, Dean comes to him. Quickly Castiel finds himself trapped in a toxic relationship, and slowly overtime finds himself even more unhappier than he was prior to the relationship. Though despite Dean being an emotionless Knight of Hell, Castiel is unable to leave the relationship and risk losing Dean again.





	Alcohol

            ‘Alcohol.’ That was the only thing present in Castiel’s slowly deteriorating conscious. The angel crushed the hollow, empty beer can and dropped it to the floor, diving back into the fridge for something stronger than the simple beer.

            Finally, Castiel’s finger felt the familiar detailed outline of his flask, the flask Dean had bought him. Castiel grabbed it’s cold body and brought it out of its icy grave. The ex-angel studied the intricate lines on the silver-plated flask that shaped two angel wings. Castiel’s lips dared not curl up into even the smallest smiles remembering Dean’s exact words as he gave Castiel the flask he would no doubt treasure for years to come, “Two angel wings, so you don’t miss your real ones too much.” Dean had been suggesting that alcohol takes the pain away, but it was more sentimental than that, like a little bit of ‘I’ll be there for you’ was present in his otherwise hard words.

Suddenly Castiel’s grip tightened around the silver flask that felt like it was burning into his human skin. Castiel quickly unscrewed the top of the flask and downed the hard whiskey that had lied present in the flask for awhile. The hard alcohol was gone before he knew it, yet the human had yet to feel the numbness that reassured him that his worries would soon temporarily disappear. Castiel stared down at the flask in his right hand, contemplating whether or not he should throw it in anger, risking damage to it.

Once Castiel decided to set it down on the counter, he reopened the fridge, ignoring the cold blast from the fridge as his eyes quickly searched for more alcohol. To Castiel’s disappointment, the fridge was clear of any hard substance. Castiel slammed the fridge door, keeping a firm hand on the door to make sure it stayed shut after taking such force. The ex-angel trudged off down the hallway leading towards Dean’s room, hesitating for a mere second in front of Dean’s door before slowly opening it.

Castiel looked around at the dark room, the dust flowing around the room showing clear neglect of use. The chair Dean had set out for Castiel was still present, but dust was thick on the chair. Even before Dean had turned into a Knight of Hell, the chair was dusty for Castiel had so little time before that to watch over his hunter. Remorse filled Castiel’s chest as he wished he had dedicated more time to watching over Dean at his most vulnerable, if he had been present, Crowley wouldn’t have made Dean his new knight.

“I’m sorry, Dean.” Castiel took one last glance at the dead room before closing the door behind him, refusing to look back as he advanced back towards the kitchen. Luckily Sam was not present to see the new human in his destroyed condition. Castiel’s inability to cope with Dean’s absence was getting worse by each second, and it had been exactly a month since Dean’s last appearance as a human, or at all. So while Castiel was battling, and clearly losing, his own sorrow of losing Dean, he also had to cope with being human once again, feeling everything so deeply, something an angel could hardly do.

As the human slipped deeper and deeper every day into his own despair, Castiel felt closer and closer to when people achieved living and yet, still being dead, the terrifying emotion, of the lack of emotion.

Once Castiel had searched a second time for more alcohol, and came up empty handed as expected, he drifted to Sam’s room to watch movies on his TV in which could aid the alcohol in muting in his otherwise maxed volume pain. Nothing could fully turn down his pain, not even complete emotional numbness could truly eliminate such immense pain. It was too great to completely disintegrate it.

Castiel attempted in making himself comfortable at the edge of Sam’s bed as he searched through the movies, not interested in continuing any of his TV shows at the time. That’s when Castiel came across a movie under ‘recently watched’. It was titled “The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly” most famous actor present in the movie being Clint Eastwood. Sam had been right when he stated ‘Dean could recite every Clint Eastwood movie ever made’. Dean proved to have favored this movie more than the rest, though, he had watched this movie with Castiel in an attempt to show him the ways of ‘the old west’. Dean seemed to have forgotten Castiel had seen the entire Earth’s life before his eyes, but nonetheless, Castiel had actually enjoyed the movie with Dean.

‘Why does every god damn thing have to remind me of him?’ Castiel could feel his anger boil once again, and he wanted nothing more than to act upon his overwhelming desire to throw the remote at the TV, but he remained unmoving. Castiel didn’t usually act upon his rage, and for good reason, if he always acted upon his rage Castiel would have a lot of broken items to explain to the Winchesters. Quickly, Castiel shut off the TV and flew out of Sam’s room, the reminiscence of the experience slowly being locked away along with the rest involving Dean.

Castiel flew out of the bunker and inhaled sharply, enjoying the sweet cool air outside the bunker. The retired angel knew he couldn’t be in the bunker anymore, far too many painful memories could be recalled at this location. Castiel couldn’t retrieve any car or bike without going inside again, which was hardly an option to him, and the Impala was with Sam who was searching for Dean somewhere in Iowa. Castiel refused to go considering his mental state would slow Sam down as well as recovering from losing all his angel mojo, the only thing Castiel would be to Sam is a burden if he followed.

Castiel leaned against the bunker door and let out a slow sigh, taking in the mixed feelings. Usually, Castiel was adamant about getting the problem fixed, but this time seemed hopeless. Not only did they both lack the knowledge of how to cure a demon, they also had absolutely no clue to where Dean would be, and how they would even capture him. As little as Castiel wanted to admit it, he had given up.

The decision was easy and obvious to Castiel; he wasn’t going to return to the bunker again, so he began to walk down the road leading to the main road which would ultimately lead him into town where he could increase his alcohol levels with a far bigger variety of stronger drinks available unlike in the bunker. As Castiel began on his long walk, he was determined for only one thing, alcohol, Dean wasn’t lying when he said it would prevent him from missing his wings, it also aided in temporarily forgetting about Dean, the thing he missed far more than his raven black wings.

The once enjoyable cool breeze was now icy gusts of wind, what made it worse was the fact that the sun was covered by thick gray clouds tempted to rain down on Castiel. The frigid temperatures forced Castiel to grab his trench coat and secure it around him to catch heat rather than allowing the cold to circulate through his coat. Castiel glanced up at the sky, hoping with what little hope he had left in him that it didn’t end up raining on him.

Right as Castiel turned back towards the road thunder boomed throughout the area, startling him slightly, but not enough to cause him to falter in strides towards the main road which was not far away now. Castiel quickened his pace to avoid the inevitable rain to come, not wanting to be caught in the rain with such cold temperatures.

The bright, blinding light of lightning in front of Castiel shot out and shortly after came the haunting sound of the deep thunder. Castiel was never fond of thunder, sometimes it even scared him, its unpredictability, its uncontrollable manner, it was simply not an enjoyable thing to experience for Castiel. Dean usually would be there for Castiel when thunderstorms rolled in because he knew the fear of thunderstorms Castiel thought he hid skillfully. Of course didn’t make any comforting actions, he was just always beside Castiel when the thunderstorms began, possibly to show that he would always be there for him, but he wasn’t, not now at least.

Tears threatened to seep down Castiel’s cheeks, but he quickly saved his humiliation with a quick wipe from his sleeve. The gut wrenching sadness struck once again and Castiel’s knees began to weaken with every thought of Dean coming to him. Castiel’s once strong, hard character was now crumbling with every step. No matter how impossible it seemed to stay strong, Castiel refused to give in. Castiel made a mental note that he wasn’t allowed to breakdown again, not in the middle of his own simple mission.

The ex-angel continued on walking; ignoring the sorrow pulling him down in the pit of his stomach. He remained content on the outside like he promised himself he would remain. His feet began to feel heavy, every motivation to even retrieve alcohol drained out of him. The last thing to go numb with sorrow was his heart, one last beat of life before the feeling of his dead body was mutual with his heart. Castiel despised how out of control he was of his human emotions.

Finally, he made it to the cement road, the decision to hitchhike was made. The man raised his arm and balled his hands into fists, lifting up his thumb to show he was a hitchhiker. Before Castiel could stop it, another memory of Dean came to him.

The memory was of Dean when he had to teach Castiel about hitchhiking, that it was a very last resort for a hunter. They were in the bunker’s garage when Dean was explaining it. Dean’s laughter of amusement filled the room as he responded to Castiel’s inhumane questions, the questions where common sense came in, but Castiel lacked that quality. With each laugh the angel fell harder for the eldest Winchester, it was rare to hear him laugh, and it hurt at the same time.

It hurt because there was always a moment for Dean, in the middle of a good time, where his smile would disappear. His expression would morph into one of pain like he was remembering all the painful memories. It’s when the realization hits him, the realization that this happiness he’s feeling is temporary. He thinks he hides this second of realization well, but Castiel always notices.

“Damn it, this fucking hurts Dean.” Castiel let out a grief-stricken laugh as tears formed in his eyes. “Being human fucking sucks” Castiel added as he wiped away his tears, though new ones quickly replaced the old ones. “Please don’t let this be the end of your-“there was a pause, hesitation, before he continued, “our story.” Castiel desperately wanted an answer that he knew would never come.

Once a few minutes had passed with no response, Castiel wiped his eyes until no more tears came. Quickly he began to re-gather his cracked areas and force his mind to wander elsewhere. Castiel allowed a small sigh to emit from his lips as he took a small moment of peace to himself before continuing on his hitchhiking journey.

Everyone turned him down, that was up until one old man with an equally old, black, rusty truck pulled up behind him. The scent of fresh hay was thick around the vehicle; this was a rancher just finishing up work.

“Hey, would you like a ride?” The old man’s voice was low and muffled, but still clear enough to be understood.

“Yes-“Castiel instantly jumped to the man’s offer, but quickly added politely, “please.”

“Well get in now.” Quickly Castiel ran to the passenger side and jumped in, ready to accept the comforting poison of the sweet liquor ahead. The thought of tasting, once again, the intoxicating, sapid alcohol caused Castiel’s mouth to swell with saliva. The blue-eyed human stared aimlessly out the window, his thoughts clouding his conscious.

After a few minutes had passed in peaceful silence, the old man finally attempted to engage in conversation. “So what’s your problem?” The old man looked over at Castiel who remained quiet and unresponsive. It became apparent to the old man that he was not in the mood to converse, so he remained quiet throughout the ride.  
-

“Stop here,” Castiel coldly ordered as they came up next to a rather empty bar.

“Do you really want to drink your sorrows away? It’s not a healthy outlet sir, I’m sure everything will turn up for you.” The man looked at Castiel; he was clearly not accepting his sympathy. The man let out a defeated sigh before unlocking the doors.

“Thank you for the ride,” Castiel mumbled icily, avoiding eye contact before shutting the door and turning towards the bar. As Castiel advanced towards the bar, he couldn’t help but smile, this was his form of self-harm, his form of taking away the pain he couldn’t control, this was his narcotic.

Castiel pushed open the shady bar door and didn’t even flinch when the fetid smell of boozed-up men and women alike hit him. Though the smell was repulsive, Castiel still forced himself forward. Considering he lived with the Winchesters, the smell actually gave a homey feeling. The bunker, at its best, still had a faint smell of whiskey, Winchesters, and beer, as if the smell had been ingrained in it from its birth.

A decent amount of people were present, talking obnoxiously loud; their drunk selves not picking up the fact that they were half yelling. The only lighting in the bar was that of multiple red lights that seemed hand-hammered in, considering their poor positions against the walls. Nevertheless, the bar looked a lot better inside than outside.

Castiel avoided eye contact with the locals and the clear “bar fly” whose figure was that of an extreme beer gut, uncared for beard, greasy, black hair, and blue, drained eyes. Not even the Winchesters consumed to such an extent. Castiel wondered for a second what swayed his decision to drink so excessively, but the thought left his mind as instantly as it had come.

The new human finally made it to the most isolated part of the bar which, was of course, the very end stool; dust had even begun to gather on it. Castiel sat down and got comfortable on the stool as he hunched forward and waved over a waiter, a well-groomed male in his mid-30s with shaggy, golden hair. His smile was exhausted but kind, surprising to Castiel considering his job.

“What would you like to drink sir?” The man’s voice was high for a male his age.

Castiel’s eyes slid down to his chest where his nametag was apparent, it read ‘Alec’. It was strange seeing him wear a nametag considering bar attendants usually weren’t required to wear them. “Um, can I take five shots of your strongest substance?”

Alec’s curved lips that lifted into a smile slowly dropped at Castiel’s order; Alec knew the blue-eyed man was in a hard state. The waiter hesitated before leaving, so desiring to offer help, but quickly concluded by his past experiences that a stranger can’t simply bargain with the broken.

Lights flashing in the corner of Castiel’s eyes caught his attention. Castiel craned his head towards the lights and noticed a girl with black hair reaching to her lower back, a snapback hat with a Nirvana symbol on it, pierced left nostril, pierced lip, and smokey eye makeup on. She sat with her right leg up on the stool as the other hung below her. She mindlessly spun a pocket-sized disco ball in her left hand as she shined a miniature flashlight on it with her right. The female’s skin was covered in tattoos, most likely those of sentimental meaning behind them rather than just for design.

The girl peered over at Castiel who was caught observing her. Castiel retreated his gaze forward, not at all desiring to interact with anyone currently. The only thing he was driven to accomplish was drink until he was no longer coherent, which would not be very hard considering he already had a buzz from his earlier drinks. This female was not going to stop him from achieving his goal either.

It wasn’t the female that stopped him though.


End file.
